


The First Time

by alexxphoenix42



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Gay Sex, M/M, PWP, Post-Season/Series 03 Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexxphoenix42/pseuds/alexxphoenix42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock find themselves coming together as if it had been planned this way all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes places after series 3.

Sherlock heard the door open and shut firmly below. . . steps through the hall and up the stairs, heavier on one side … John … carrying a suitcase. Sherlock tightened his grip on his microscope, briefly, then willed himself to relax.

The footfalls slowed, stopped. John lingered outside the door to the flat though he must surely realize that Sherlock knew he was there. Finally John turned the doorknob and stepped inside. 

“John.” Sherlock looked up. One glimpse of his stricken face told the whole story. The baby wasn’t his.

“Yeah, hi …” Five different emotions looked to be warring for the use of John’s face. Seeming to give up on choosing any one in particular, he turned to set his bag down, and slipped his jacket off to hang on a peg by the door. His hand froze on the coat for a moment as if he were afraid of letting it go.

“Listen, Sherlock, is it okay if I stay at the flat for a few days?”

“Always, John. Your room is as you left it.” Sherlock stood quietly to face him.

“I …” John passed a hand over his face as he finally turned back toward the kitchen. “I ran a paternity test on the baby. It seems Mary lied about more than a few things.”

His voice broke just slightly on the last word, and Sherlock flinched in sympathy. It was one of the saddest sounds he had ever heard issue from Captain John H. Watson. Sherlock moved on instinct to place a hand on John’s shoulder, and somehow the gesture turned into the shorter man falling against him. Sherlock folded his arms around him, tucking him close as a simple continuation of the movement. John in turn pressed his face against Sherlock’s chest and shivered just once. Of its own accord, Sherlock’s hand began drawing slow circles along his friend's back.

“I’m sorry, mate.” John tried to pull back, get ahold of himself.

“Shhhh.” Sherlock was having none of it. He leaned his cheek against John’s sandy blond hair, and continued rubbing the soothing circles effectively trapping the doctor against him.

John groaned and before Sherlock knew what he was about, the man had shifted and caught Sherlock’s mouth in a kiss. It started small, dry lips pressed against his own, and then mouths parted, and the kiss delved into something deeper. Sherlock gasped as he fell into hot breath and warm sliding tongues. A tremor passed over him as he gripped double handfuls of John’s shirt trying to process this new cascade of sensation.

“Oh, GOD, I’m sorry …” John stammered trying to pull away again

_Unacceptable._

Sherlock clasped each side of John’s head to steady him, and licked into his mouth. The man went almost boneless in response. They stumbled to the couch with no finesse whatsoever. When the back of John’s knees hit the cushions, Sherlock pushed, and they collapsed together across it. Lips still diving and seeking, John dragged Sherlock’s dressing gown off his shoulders and he obligingly shrugged it the rest of the way down. They pulled back briefly for Sherlock to tear at John’s buttons, shoving his shirt away, and John to rip Sherlock’s tee over his head once he had finished.

Chests bared, John swooped in urging Sherlock back into the cushions. He sealed them together, nothing but warm skin on skin, and Sherlock forgot to breathe. 

_Oh. This was . . this . . ._

John drove Sherlock down into the sofa further with an assault of kisses over his eyelids, cheeks and lips. When John mouthed down his neck and sucked, Sherlock nearly choked as his cock surged at the shock of it. Eyes closed, faces pressed, they rocked hips together sending a burst of sparks fizzing through Sherlock's very bloodstream. Sherlock found himself moaning out a staccato rhythm in time to the pace of John’s hardness grinding against his own. Just as a wave threatened to crest over his head, John swallowed, and eased back, slowing them down with a sweet kiss, deliberately letting lips catch and linger.

He could almost see the thoughts racing across John's mind when he sat back, and reached down to lay a hand lightly over Sherock’s erection through his pyjama bottoms. He dropped his eyes, suddenly shy. “I’ve never … done this with a man before.”

Sherlock reached up to run a long finger down John’s cheek. “I’ve never done this with another person before.” 

“You and Janine didn’t …?” John drew back. He looked so affronted, so shocked, that Sherlock felt almost sorry he had flaunted Janine so in front of him. But then there was Mary. Maybe it was okay that John had been a little jealous.

“John, you know that relationship was a sham on both sides.”

“Yeah, I guess so …” John trailed off, considering. He regrouped to fix Sherlock with a pointed gaze. “Is this okay?” he asked, reaching down again to gently cup Sherlock’s aching penis.

“John, take my cock in your hand properly before I scream.”

John needed no more urging. He pushed Sherlock’s bottoms carefully down and off to let his erection spring free. "God" John breathed, and almost reverently wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's bare cock. _Oh, yes, that, GOD . . ._ John frowned, an endearing pucker between his brows, and concentrated as he slid his hand along an unfamiliar penis. He alternated firm and gentle passes trying to find a rhythm to suit them. When Sherlock stuttered out “slower, tighter” he settled into an excrutiatingly slow slide of foreskin up and down his length.

The pleasure was almost too much to take. Sherlock had never experienced anything quite like this masturbating by himself. It was almost too much feeling to be contained within one person. It continued to spiral out from his cock, undulating outward to fill his entire body until it _was_ too much, and he came with a yell, ejaculating hot stripes over his belly and John’s fist. For some reason, tears were coursing down his cheeks as well. John carefully wiped the come off with a tee shirt, then leaned forward to kiss the wet off his face.

“Shh. Shhh, it’s all right now.” Suddenly they had switched places and John was the one comforting him. It seemed a better place for them. John was so much better at giving care. When Sherlock had gotten his breath under control, he gently pushed John back, and reached to the waistband of his trousers. He popped the button, and slid the fly open. John stopped his hand briefly.

“Are you sure?”

“John, I’ve wanted nothing else for months.”

He pushed John’s clothes down his thighs and off. Climbing between John’s legs, _beautifully strong and dusted with golden hair_ , Sherlock gathered up John’s cock, _gorgeous, slightly thicker than his own_ , and slid the head into his mouth. He ran his hand up the shaft while his lips worked over the glans sliding down and sucking back again. The books and videos had nothing on the real thing. The presence of John in his mouth, John actually _here_ , his warm musky scent filling his nostrils, his helpless cries spilling down from above was … well, it was heaven. Sherlock felt sure he could do this all day. When John shuddered and came in his mouth, Sherlock was almost surprised, jolted from his rhythm. He swallowed. The flavor was not unlike a mushroom risotto, though with a more protein finish. He decided he could definitely get used to the taste.

John tugged him back up into his arms. “Oh God. Thank you, Sherlock. You, you _wonder._ ”

“You’re welcome, John.”

Sherlock twitched a blanket off the back of the sofa to cover them, and they lay side by side, entwined, dozing as evening crept in. The light slipped away, but the warmth of a sleeping John pressed tightly against his belly remained a true and steady presence as darkness claimed the flat.


End file.
